


Two Years Before

by Tiz



Series: Spies and Lovers [1]
Category: Think of England - K. J. Charles
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Third Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: Daniel comes back to Archie's rooms and finds his lovers in a... bad state.Cuddles help.
Relationships: Archie Curtis/Daniel da Silva
Series: Spies and Lovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869622
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Two Years Before

**Author's Note:**

> There is a tiiiny hint to one of my favourite songs here. Unbetaed, forgive any mistake :)

Daniel entered Archie’s rooms in Cranbourne Street, and stilled.

The lights were off. And there was somebody in here. 

He laid the door close to the hinges, without closing it all the way. It clicked when shut, and listened.

There was a sound of breathing in the living room.

He walked towards it, the ridiculously soft carpet underground helping his natural silent steps. Archie should not be home, tonight. He had a meeting with Bill Merton about his continued involvement with Hackeney Young Men’s Gymnasium. They would be talking of boxing until the wee hours. 

Daniel had begged out. There was only so much he could take on uppercuts and scoring.

The living room was dark, but his eyes had gotten used to it. On the chaise lounge, a hulking figure sat, head downcast, hands dangling between his knees.

Not even the light of the moon could bleach out the gold of these hair.

He walked in, not caring of how much noise he made. Which meant, of course, he still did not made any. He cleared his throat.

Archie lifted his head a fraction.

“... I thought you were at your club.”

“The reading was a true bore. Really all that ado for nothing.” He sat by Archie. The sharp scent of gin was in the air.

Archie. Drinking gin alone. In the dark. 

Daniel opened his mouth to speak.

“May I ask a…a favor?” Archie voice was not slurred, but the bone-deep tiredness in it jarred Daniel’s very bones. 

“Anything.” G-d forgive him, he meant it. 

“Could you hold me?”

Daniel tried to breathe out, his mind racing. There had been no particularly hard missions lately. Archie’s interests were flourishing. Sir Vaudrey was happy with them. Had there be some problems with one of Archie’s uncles? A bereavement, perhaps?

His heart squeezed. Daniel almost cursed the cumbersome organ.

“Of course my dear. Come here.”

He turned on the chaise lounge, a far sturdier example than the one in his old rooms, passing one leg behind Archie, and extended his arms.

Archie came willingly, his strong, solid body in Daniel’s arms. The solace that came with having Archie in his arms was physical, a prickle in the back of his brain, a satisfaction in his ribcage.

Archie put his face against Daniel’s neck, breathing him in.

… Archie’s breath on his neck did other things to his anatomy, the kind of things it was clearly not the right moment to be thinking about.

Daniel squeezed the solid bulk. Archie was not crushing him. He was always, always careful.

He waited.

“... it is two years today.”

Daniel, who was being an idiot, almost asked “two years today from what?” before he thought better and closed his mouth.

His hand had been caressing Archie’s hair. He had not noticed. Now he could continue whilst noticing it which was better on every account.

Jacobsdal. Of course.

“... I saw him dying.”

This time, Daniel’s brain supplied the “him” almost immediately. Archie’s “special friend” in the army. His lieutenant. His… not-lover.

“He bled to death, his hand blew away. I watched it. The life going out of his eyes. My own fingers were hanging from my hand by a string and I did not feel them. I could only feel him. George Fisher. He was my friend.”

Daniel held Archie closer, because there was nothing else to do against the hollowness in that deep, beloved voice. And he waited, because he knew when a story was done, and that was not.

“... I wonder if he had ever… wanted me to kiss him. I never did. Never thought of it. I wonder if he did. Want it.”

Archie’s body spasmed against Daniel, who could do absolutely nothing but hold him, caress his hair, and listen. 

He could also kiss his forehead, which is what he did. 

“You did your best for him, Archie. I am sure of it.” 

Well apparently he could also offer plaintudes. Do try to be more useful, Da Silva.

Archie swallowed.

“It was bad.” Ah, the English talent for understatement. “The surgery to cut my fingers off… We did not have a lot of anesthetic.” Daniel had never thought of it, did not want to think of it, and would have been happier in a World without that particular phrase in it, but was glad to hear Archie telling him. After all, he made no great claim of logic. “Then coming back to England a cripple. The convalescence. But after it was… worse.”

“Worse?” Worse than amputation with “not a lof of anesthetic”?

Archie’s eyes were two glass marbles. Beautiful and empty. They scared Daniel, in a way he could not name, for all his facility with words. He put one of his leg above Archie’s. He needed him close.

Needed to feel he was warm. Alive.

“... I came back you see. To society. But I was not myself. I was pieces of what I used to be. I… I had no name. That December… Christmas’ eve I… I cannot remember it.”

There was one thing to be said of Archie Curtis. No really there were many and Daniel was still in the process of discovering them after months of impossibly real… consortium with the man. {Not relationship shut up Da Silva}

The thing in question was that Archie had two modes: completely befuddled or really clear. No in-between. 

Daniel swallowed and held the man close, wishing that Newton had been wrong and two bodies could have been able to occupy the same space. Really this whole physics business was a great inconvenience.

“I was… empty. Like a dried leaf. I thought…”

Daniel knew he was not going to like what was going to come. He also knew he had to listen to. Had to.

“I thought it may have been better if I had been killed too. At Jacobsdal.”

Here it was.

Daniel hissed and crushed Archie to himself, not caring for trifles like being able to breathe. Something flared in his chest, protectiveness and care and love like a bonfire.

“... I am glad you didn’t. If nothing else, I would have been probably killed.” His voice was soft, and light, and did not show how much Archie’s words had sundered his chest as neatly as if he had used a cleaver. 

Archie snorted.

“True. I am glad you are not dead.” It was Archie’s turn to squeeze him. “... I came back because of you, you know. You once told me you made me no favor, but you did. You do not know how much.”

Daniel doubted it. Granted, maybe his presence had helped. A bit. A tiny bit. But he knew it was mostly being useful again that had helped, truly helped, Archie.

His viking needed his battles, after all.

Still.

“I am glad.” He repeated, kissing Archie’s head again. Archie moved, his head on Daniel’s chest, listening to the absurd organ that had unaccountably decided to belong to him. The nerve of the thing.

Daniel passed his fingers amidst the golden locks.

“Daniel may I… may we stay like this? For a while?”

“As long as you want, my dear.”

Daniel did not know how long he stayed here, in the dark, with Archie’s body above him like the heaviest and most comforting of blankets. He did not know when he fell asleep, or when Archie did. 

They slept the night away on the chaise lounge, and then the day passed, and Jacobsdal and living nightmares were two years and one day away. 

And they were still alive, and still together.

Daniel counted that as two wins.


End file.
